


THE CUMBRIAN RETREAT OF THE DOCTOR

by dschram



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cumbrian Monks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1771333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dschram/pseuds/dschram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Doctor finds his quiet room and has a good think. But how did those bells ring? Takes place between the "Prequel" and the episode "The Bells of Saint John".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. FINDING THE QUIET ROOM

The sad but incredible man made his way back to the blue police box. All his efforts at finding a particular inexplicable woman had proven futile. He was beginning to lose all hope of ever finding her and possibly getting a tiny bit concerned that it may drive him completely mad. However, the idea from the little girl on the swing was intriguing – find a quiet room and give it a good think. 

He approached the blue box; with a snap of his fingers and newfound determination, he burst through the doors proclaiming, “Right then – Randomiser it is.” His finger flicked open a cover revealing a hidden button. A moment of reverie abruptly overtook him. River loved to push that button…especially when she thought he was not looking...Taking a deep breath and forcing himself back to reality he pressed it and readied himself to engage the engines. “Come on Old Girl,” he said addressing his faithful ship of time and space, “Take me where I need to be.” He threw the final lever while raising his voice in a hopeful, “Geronimo!”

The aged Abbot was in a very secluded part of the monastery. He came here often to pray being much troubled of late, humbly seeking a mission of significance that would produce a beneficial legacy long after he was gone and forgotten. Deep in the midst of his meditation he fell into a trance and beheld a bright being, dressed in white having long curly hair. He was told a strange man in a blue box would soon come, seeking solitude and solace for his wounded soul. Suddenly there was this odd wheezing-groaning sound that caused the Abbot to look up. A blue box appeared as if out of a whirlwind. Then a door opened and as foretold the strange man came out offering his hand in greeting.

“Hello, I’m the Doctor.” As the Abbot took his hand he felt a strong overwhelming sensation of melancholy hiding under a chipper façade.

“You seek a quiet place,” he informed the Doctor.

“Yes,” the Doctor answered with a somewhat puzzled expression.

“I’m the Abbot here.”

“Where and what year is this?”

“Cumbria…year of our Lord 1207.”

“Ah, yes early 13th century, relatively peaceful…the Lake District,” Briefly looking over his shoulder and seeming to address the box the Doctor said, “Good choice.” Then quickly back to the Abbot, “Hang on, you don’t seem at all taken aback by my arrival.” 

“Actually you’re an answer to prayer, I was told to expect you,” he then related to the Doctor his vision.

“Curly hair you say? Hmm…I wonder.” Still looking after me, he thought to himself.

“I sense a retrospection of warmth, enshrined by loneliness, followed by regret with an effort to forget…Don’t be alarmed I should explain…For as far back as I can remember I’ve been bestowed with the spiritual gift of compassion,” explained the Abbott.

“Ah, you’re an empath,” realized the Doctor, “able to sense another’s guilt, pain and sorrow. Silly me, I didn’t notice it at first but there’s a strong psychic field about you.”

“When I was young I treated it like a curse but as I grew in wisdom I learned to embrace it for the good of others. It became my ministry of visitation, prayer and concern for the poor and sick, both in body and spirit…What is it that troubles you so my son?”

The Doctor thought for a moment, “You remind me a bit of my old teacher…I’m going to take a leap of faith and allow you a deeper look into my mind, but be forewarned, this will open your mind to me also.”

“I have become your servant,” replied the humble Abbot.

“If there’s something you don’t want me to see just imagine a door and close it.”

“I’ve nothing to hide, please…proceed.” 

“Very well,” said the Doctor. “We must be in physical contact.” He proceeded to place his hands on either side of the Abbot’s well-worn face. “Close your eyes…visualise.”

In a few short moments words gushed forth, the old man’s voice gradually increased in emotional intensity, “Oh…oh, so much loneliness…and loss…friends, family, wife…your entire race!...closed doors…secrets that protect…Such…such heavy burdens!” At that the Doctor broke the link. Tears had started to trickle down both their faces.

“That’s enough for now…just gave you a quick peep of what you’ll be dealing with.”

“This old vessel may be weak but the psyche’s quite hardy.”

“I know, I could tell…didn’t want to overwhelm you, we’ve only just met.”

The Abbot moved nearer the TARDIS, “I’m curious…your box…I sense…something.” He touched the doors, noticing the symbol and sign. “St John Ambulance, like the insignia of a knight…Advice and Assistance Obtainable Immediately,” he said reading the sign.

“Go on,” said the Doctor inviting him to open the door.

The old man’s eyes lit up after passing over the threshold, “Dimensionally transcendental!” he said fully awed, “Oh, this is extraordinary, and….and, I can feel it. Your ship has feelings! Is it…alive?”

With a grin and a little chuckle the Doctor replied, “Yes, she’s quite sentient. Here, lay your hands on the telepathic circuits.”

The Abbot cheerfully did as instructed, “I do believe she likes me.”

“The TARDIS picked you, brought us together…for our mutual benefit…apparently.”

“She cares greatly for you and is quite desirous of my assistance.” 

“Yeah, about that solitude thing…We need to find a place for her.”

“Somewhere out of the way and a bit hidden – Oh, I know just the place.”

“Right,” the Doctor ran around the console pushing and flicking buttons and switches then engaging the engines.

“What’s happening?”

“Moving to the place,” stated the Doctor, “We’re here.” The enthusiastic Abbot opened the door and walked out. “Where’s this?” asked the Doctor right behind him looking all around.

“It’s the burial grounds…this is a cave.”

“Hopefully, no carnivorous skulls…,” he quietly mumbled.

“What did you say?”

“Sorry…another time, another place…”

“We have rooms for special guests at the monastery.”

“One of your cells will do just fine…don’t wish to draw unnecessary attention to myself or be a burden.”

“As you wish…But what of your…TARDIS?”

“She’ll be fine, she understands that I just need some time to think…outside the box.”


	2. GIVING IT A GOOD THINK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did the Doctor get up to during his Cumbrian retreat?
> 
> Scripture references for the benefit of the reader are included in square brackets. The author used either the New Living Translation (NLT) or the Holman Christian Standard Bible (HCSB) which are readily available at bible dot com or biblegateway dot com. Also the Latin version aka Vulgate can be found there too which is what the Cumbrian monks would have had.

The monastery was serene and quiet. Apart from chants and a few public prayers the only thing to break the silence was the ringing of the bells. It was how the monks told time and knew what came next in their daily routine, starting at sunrise and ending an hour after sunset. In an amusing way it reminded the Doctor of Ivan Pavlov’s conditioning experimentation with dogs.

Despite the quietness within its walls, it was a busy place. As a self sufficient community there were always plenty of chores to be done. However, the monks also played an important part in the lives of the people who lived outside its walls. They provided hospitality to travelers; helped to feed the poor and provided local health care. Monks were some of the very few who actually knew how to read and write; and since the printing press was yet to be invented, some of them would spend many painstaking hours meticulously hand copying manuscripts. They were the storehouse of history, theology, philosophy and science; every chronicle, calculation, poem, legend and song carefully preserved. It was because of this that they also ran a school. (Europe’s monasteries became the beginning of many a university.)

Talking amongst the monks inside the monastery was strongly discouraged. To get around this they developed their own form of sign language, especially at meals. The Doctor even figured out that they had a special hand gesture just for him. It was Shrove Tuesday and the now robed clad Doctor had a big scrumptious stack of fluffy pancakes in front of him that he was enthusiastically diving into. He felt someone touch his shoulder then looked up to see the Abbot smirk and shake his head. It was then the Doctor noticed disapproving looks from the other monks as they rubbed their chins with the back of their hands.

Before the next to last bell the Abbot stopped by to check on the Doctor in his cell. 

“I have to say these robes are not very stylish.”

“There not suppose to be…you wanted to blend in,” replied the Abbot.

“Oh and sorry ‘bout dinner…didn’t intend to be disrespectful,” mentioned the Doctor.

“Actually that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“We’re entering a special time of year,” explained the Abbot.

“Oh yes that’s right, Lent.”

“Yes, a time of self-reflection and self-denial…a way to remind ourselves of the value of… repentance,” sounding almost like a question.

“All well and good, except the burden I bear is too big…those I’ve wronged…no longer around to ask their forgiveness.”

“But you’ve tried to convince yourself that your actions were justified,” stated the Abbot.

“How did you…?”

“I was in your head.”

Nodding with realization the Doctor replied, “…Guess I didn’t close that door all the way.”

“Feelings have a way of seeping through the cracks.”

“I just need to focus on forgetting the past and look forward to what lays ahead...press on to reach the end of the race,” said the Doctor quoting Saint Paul. [Phil 3: 13-14]

“Yes, constantly running…burying your guilt deeper…the ever present regret, emboldening you to help others as your penance. Ah… that would explain the many legends…the sainted physician in the blue box…you’re like Michael the Archangel…traveling through time smiting demons, a defender against the forces of evil… but, there will come a day when you’ll have to stop and face your guilt.”

“That day is not today.”

“Then what is your reason for coming here?”

“I usually don’t travel alone, I’m looking for someone.”

“…A companion?”

“…Actually looking for a particular person – a woman.”

“So you come to a monastery?” the Abbot said with amusement.

“Not that type of companion!” The irritated Doctor quietly replied with flushed face. Quickly regaining his composure he continued, “Actually it was the suggestion of a child,” then hastily adding, “Well that plus trusting the TARDIS.”

“Things hidden from the wise and clever are often revealed to children,” spoke the Abbot as if he was quoting something.

“Sorry?”

“…Scripture, from both Matthew and Luke’s gospel.” [Matt 11:25; Luke 10:21]

“Oh…right; well said.” 

“Why a-particular-woman?”

The Doctor thought for a moment, “Hmm, I think it’d be better if I showed you by allowing you into my head once more.” Sitting across from each other the trusting Doctor took the Abbot’s arthritic hands in his and leaned forward so that their foreheads touched.

It was mostly quiet but every now and again the Abbot would say a few words, “…died saving your life… died, it was your fault…Run, you clever boy and remember…both times, same woman…Lost friend…Find quiet room.” 

The Doctor then slowly leaned away took a deep breath and said, “So, you see?”

“The child was right. It’s not so much a matter of destiny but of timing.”

Immediately the Time Lord’s eyebrows rose and jaw dropped, “Timing?” he said somewhat curiously taken aback.

With a smile of reassurance the Abbott explained, “Everything needs to happen at the right time…in the right place. Trusting in that timing is difficult but necessary to grow patience…Learning to be still renews your strength…then you can run and not be weary. Wait my son, be of good courage, have confidence…everything works together for the good of those chosen.” [Eccl 3:1; Isa 40:31; Ps 27:14; Rom 8:28]

“Chosen? …For what?”

“You are a rather unique individual, for that reason only you can fulfill a specific purpose…A special plan, if you will.”

“…Plan?”

“Did you not make a promise...a covenant?”

“Never cruel or cowardly…never give up, never give in,” calmly replied the Doctor.

“…Wise as the serpent, harmless as the dove,” added the Abbot. [Matt 10:16]

The presently discouraged Doctor remarked, “Often easier said than done.” At that the next to last bell sounded.

“I’ll leave you now; you have much to ponder. Pleasant dreams, Doctor.”

“Good night.” 

Obviously there was more to this than meets the eye. Chosen? He had never thought of it that way. He figured he was just wandering about the universe trying to have a bit of fun. However, the TARDIS more often than not, took him to places where he ended up needing to help in some rather dire situations…But this having to wait…Could he bear it?

Then it seemed as if an idea suddenly struck him. The Doctor reached under his monk robe pulling out of all things, a Barbie-like doll, kissed it and then sighing said out loud, “Oh, my bespoke psychopath...you’d know what to do…ease my anxiety with your words and…well…you know...” A smile of remembrance broke out on his face, but his reverie was abruptly interrupted. Hitting his forehead with his palm then dragging that same hand down his face he exclaimed, “Bugger, I’m off me rocker…talking to a doll!” With bottom lip thrust forward in a major pout, he threw himself down on the bed. However he subsequently had a change of heart and gingerly placed the doll on the table next to him as if in apology. He laid back down then looking up at the ceiling spoke out loud, “Hmm, if I can’t find Clara may have to stop at that Maldovarium Market…pick up some type of artificial intelligence…not a dog though…can’t handle being called Master...”

Unbeknownst to the Doctor, a curious young monk suddenly stopped by the recently closed door upon hearing talking. There seemed to be only one voice and he could only made out an odd word here and there. A fellow monk noticed and came nearer. The original monk pointed to the door, rubbed his chin and then circled his index finger near his own head. The new monk nodded his head in affirmation. Eventually the final bell sounded and they quickly dispersed to their respective cells.

All around were the calming night sounds of insects and frogs in chorus. The walls of the Doctor’s cell were bathed in moonlight as he lay there thinking and breathing while continuing to stare at the ceiling. After a while he turned on his side, saw the doll then picked it up and laid it on the pillow next to him. Soon he was fast asleep. Sometime during the night the sound of the insects and frogs changed to that of the background hum of the TARDIS. He was in his own bed…correction, their bed. On the pillow next to him was no longer the doll but his wife, River sleeping. In his mind he knew that she is supposed to be a data ghost in the computer on the Library planet. But he pushed reality out of his mind, deciding that he preferred the fantasy.

“Mmm, hello Sweetie,” she said half waking up and looking at him. “What’s the matter, can’t you sleep?”

“Not really.”

“Come here.” He snuggled up next to her as she enveloped her arms about him.

“I can’t find her.”

“You will.”

“How do you know?” he said tilting his head to look at her face.

“I always know. I’m River Song…husband.”

“Wife,” he responded with reverence. Instantly transfixed, he kissed her. Then kissed her deeper and began to caress her. Oh, how he missed everything about her. She could take away his loneliness like nothing else; all his fears and worries melting away…

Next morning he awoke refreshed to the sound of the first bell.

He did his best to occupy his day light hours by assisting with some of the many chores but proved to be a bit of a klutz and only ended up exasperating the other monks. Without dangers to avert or people to defend the days just seemed to drag on. He could not get the hang of being restful.

At night he would go back to his cell. Everything really slowed down when he was alone with nothing but his thoughts. "The time has come, the Walrus said, to think of many things: Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--Of cabbages--and kings--And why the sea is boiling hot--And whether pigs have wings," the frustrated Doctor said quietly to himself just slightly altering Lewis Carroll’s words. Not meddling with time’s delicate thread of coincidences was proving to be a hard thing to do and starting to drive him a bit bonkers. The next morning he decided to talk to the Abbot.

The Doctor searched high and low, finally tracking him down. They arranged to meet at mid day in the place they first met.

“I sense…restlessness,” declared the Abbot, feeling somewhat overwhelm by it.

“…Yeh, just a tiny bit.”

“I hear you’ve been upsetting the other monks.”

“…Just trying to help.”

“But you’re supposed to be learning to be still,” gently replied the concerned Abbot.

“I may go mad; I have to have something to do. Anything, please!” the Doctor pleaded.

“Hmm,” the Abbot suddenly had a wondrous idea. “How do you feel about…manuscripts?”

“Hand copying texts? I can do that…no problem-o,” replied an enthusiastic Doctor.

Touching the bouncing Doctor’s shoulder and looking straight into his eyes the Abbot, summoning all the calmness he could muster, with gravity stated, “I need you to understand that this is a sacred endeavour. Transcription is an act of meditation and prayer; not just a simple replication of letters. You must come to intimately know and experience the texts you copy…words going from the page infusing your innermost being.”

The Doctor had become very still, as he both heard and felt the Abbot’s words. “Yes,” he reiterated, “meticulously record the information but not without thought…it’s an ancient science, channeling the power of words.”

The Abbot nodded his head then continued, “Words created the universe… they are attached to the soul…We are pages…the way we live writes words creating a story that one day everyone will read when the books are opened.” [Gen 1:1-5; John 1:1-4; Ps 139:16; Dan 7:9-10; Rev 20:12]

Sensing that he understood the Abbot took him to the cloister. On the inside of the north wall were cubicle-like recesses containing tilted desks for the monks to sit at and copy texts, along with the necessary ink wells and quills. The manuscript chosen for the Doctor to transcribe was Ecclesiastes.

This is some of what he first wrote down: Vanitas vanitatum omnia vanitas (Absolute futility, everything is futile [Eccl 1:2]) – “Oh, this is gonna be a cheery book,” he said sarcastically to himself.

“Sshh!” he heard on either side of him.

“Sorry,” he quietly whispered, from then only thinking in his head instead of out loud. “Hmm, that could also be render fleeting or like breath on a mirror, gone in a moment.” 

Actually as he continued he found that he easily identified with its author. History repeats itself [Eccl 1:9] – “You can say that again.” 

So I set out to learn everything from wisdom to madness and folly. But I learned firsthand that pursuing all this is like chasing the wind [Eccl 1:17]. “Cor blimey!” The power of the words knocked him right off the chair. “Ow!” he whispered as he started to get back up. The other interrupted monks satisfied that he was okay, went back to their writing.

The next passage packed an equal punch but he managed to stay on the chair this time – The greater my wisdom, the greater my grief. To increase knowledge only increases sorrow [Eccl 1:18]. All these words were having quite the affect on him. 

For what will the man be like who comes after? [Eccl 2:12] That was about all he could take for one day. It was plenty to think about.

Each day he wrote a little at a time carefully absorbing each phrase. Then he came to this – a whole section on time – To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose – everything having its proper time. “Hmm, wasn’t that a song?”[Eccl 3:1-8] Then right after this – eternity planted in the heart - a sense of purpose even without being able to see from beginning to end [Eccl 3:11].

He wrote down about the injustices of both life and death - the folly of both laziness and of working to exhaustion [Eccl 3:8-22, 4:1-6]. His eyes really lit up when he wrote down about the advantages of companionship – Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble…A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple braided cord is not easily broken [Eccl 4:7-12]. Such memories this brought forth in him.

There was a section on making and keeping promises [Eccl 5:1-7]. Then about enjoying short lives or living a thousand years twice over and being miserable, even though all go to the same place in the end. “Hmm, the future…both determined and unknown…a paradoxically intriguing book!” (Eccl 6:1-12]

There were various wise sayings [Eccl 7:1-14] and counsel to avoid extremes. He read that there is not one totally good person, no one who is truly pure and sinless [Eccl 7:15-21].

“Oh this I like” – How wonderful to be wise (clever) to analyze and interpret things, it lights up your face [Eccl 8:1] – “Yes it does.”

“But I don’t like this” – None of us has the power to prevent the day of our death. There is no escaping that obligation, that dark battle [Eccl 8:8]. “Ah, but it does say to have fun.” [Eccl 8:15]

He liked this particular bit of wisdom – The fastest runner doesn’t always win the race, and the strongest warrior doesn’t always win the battle. The wise sometimes go hungry, and the skillful are not necessarily wealthy. And those who are educated don’t always lead successful lives. It is all decided by chance, by being in the right place at the right time [Eccl 9:11]. Oh and this was good too – Better to hear the quiet words of a wise person than the shouts of a foolish king. Better to have wisdom than weapons of war [Eccl 9:17-18].

There were many passages about life - the ironies, uncertainties, advice for both young and old - [Eccl 10 and 11]; and then a rather poetic description of old age [Eccl 12:1-7], “That’ll be me one day.”

The final words of the book were sobering. It stated that we will be judged for everything we do, including every secret thing whether good or bad [Eccl 12:14].

He actually did it, stayed still long enough to allow the power of words to have their affect. It was a different kind of feeling, almost indescribable but in a good way. He simply felt a bit more complete. The Abbot of course noticed it right away.

“I’m not use to this…what is this sensation?” the Doctor asked him.

“It’s called transcendence…you’ve become bigger on the inside…more full.”

“Hah… I guess that would be one way to describe it,” the Doctor replied amused by the observation.

With a calm excitement the Abbot continued, “You’re starting to see things a little differently, grasping that deep interconnection between the paradoxes of life. Oh, now I see…that’s why you need a companion to travel with because you have a hard time seeing those patterns…you’ve been feeding off their experiences!”

“Is that a bad thing?” the Doctor asked sheepishly.

“Not necessarily, no more so than a sighted person trying to explain colour to one who’s blind,” but then the Abbot suddenly realized, “Ah, now I know what you need next.”

“What pray tell?”

“…using your mind’s eye to form a picture…visualization,” replied the Abbot.

“…The power of images?”

“Yes, but I was thinking of utilizing creativity to capture mystery on canvas.”

“If I paint her I will find her?” asked a somewhat incredulous Doctor.

“It will help maintain a focus that should enable you to reach across dimensions of time and space, seeking assistance and possibly even gain a sense of her presence.”

“…Seems like a bit of a stretch, a miracle even.”

“Yes and impossible things do happen,” the Abbot replied with strong assurance.

“Hmm, it’ll be a challenge but I believe I can rise to the occasion…Get me the art supplies,” said the Doctor heading out of the cell, “I’ve got to pick up a couple of useful items from the TARDIS.”

When he got back to the cell all the art supplies he need were there. From his ship he acquired a Metebelis crystal wrapped up in a shawl. The crystal would amplify his telepathic abilities and the shawl served as a psychometric object since it had belonged to the Victorian Clara. 

The Doctor was glad that he had taken some painting lessons from Da Vinci in his fourth body but determined that this painting will most likely end up somewhere between Van Gogh and Gainsborough, definitely not as imaginative but not quite superbly photo-realistic either.

He would think for a while and then he would paint, back and forth this went on for days, each time the image in his mind and on the canvas getting both clearer and stronger.

"Please help me find her, please help me find her," he repeated over and over again in his mind with each and every brush stroke until finally it was finished. The final touch was the mysterious phrase – Run you clever boy and remember – that he added just below the portrait.


	3. HOW THE BELLS RANG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who gave Clara that number and what were the circumstances?

Clara had been putting it off. Today she was finally going to do it…get her very own computer. It had been nearly a year since finishing her degree in literature and there were at least a hundred and one places to see. She needed to decide which ones and make arrangements. After having those adventures, the plan was to get her teaching credentials and settle down to a normal life, maybe even do some serious dating.

She just had never been a big fan of reading from a bright computer screen, preferring instead the feel and smell of a good book in her hands. Also, was it not better to actually talk to people (with their voice inflections and facial expressions) to get the complete meaning, rather than just tweeting or messaging? Of course she had to use a computer in university but they were plentiful in the library, always on…connected, and someone else looked after them when they broke. Just how secure were computers any ways? 

Mister Maitland recommended that she get a netbook and had told her about a local computer shop in Chiswick, she was on her way there now, the last stop of the day.

Clara turned the corner and there it was – Temporal Technology. After entering Clara began to look around. She must have had a rather bewildered look on her face because right then a ginger headed woman spoke up, “Not sure which one you need?”

“…Just looking for a netbook, something to connect to the internet.”

The woman in the shop said, “This is a popular model.”

“I don’t like the colour,” Clara replied. “Do you have it in blue?”

“Yes, I believe we do,” said the woman as she searched behind the counter.

“Lovely shop you have here. I love a little shop…so much more personal than those bigger stores.” At that Clara noticed that the woman suddenly had a strange blank stare on her face and then winced slightly as if in pain. “…You all right?”

“Ah…yeh, just something that happens…get these fleetin’ migraines every once and a while…One Christmas I totally blanked out…What were you saying?”

“Your shop, Temporal Technology…is that a reference to time?”

“No ‘temporal’, as in ‘temple’.”

“…A place of worship?”

“No, no, the temples on either side of your head…is this blue one okay?” She said handing Clara the computer.

“Ah, much better…Have you worked here long?”

“Actually I help out my husband in between jobs…best temp in Chiswick,” replied the woman. “We started the business with a winning lottery ticket someone gave us on our wedding day. Funny, never did figure out who that was.”

“That was a good bit of luck,” said Clara examining the computer. “Yes, I think I’ll take this one. Is it easy to set up and get connected?” She asked as the woman swiped her card.

“You shouldn’t have a problem as long as you have Wi-Fi available.” Then the woman appeared to almost blank out again.

“Hello?” said Clara waving her hand in front of the other woman to check her response.

“Sorry, not sure what’s wrong with me today…Here,” she said as she wrote on the back of Clara’s receipt, “this is the number to the best helpline out there…in the universe.”

”Oh…okay, thanks.” Clara glanced at the number - 07700 900 461 - as she hurried out the door, needing to get back before her charges returned from school.

In the shop a man overheard the last part of the conversion and asked the woman, “What number did you give her...best helpline in the universe?”

“…Hmm? What? Don’t know. It just felt like the sort of thing she should have.”

Cumbria 1207, on the very last day of Lent, the Abbot and a monk entered the darkened room where a hooded monk sat at a table. Behind him was a completed painting of a woman on an easel.

After quickly clearing his throat the Abbot said to the sitting man, whom the others referred to as the mad monk, “I'm sorry to intrude. The bells of Saint John are ringing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rather like this idea though it may eventually be disproven in the show. Let me know in the comments if you like my reveal - she was my favourite Tenth Doctor companion. I will always remember that sad shocked look on River's face when she first realized that she had met Donna.


End file.
